


Little Boy Blue

by tebtosca



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Allusions to past child abuse, Hooker Jared, Incest, M/M, Murder, Prostitution, Protective Jensen, Serial Killer Jensen, Sharing Clothes, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's been looking for his little brother for a very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Boy Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherie_morte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/gifts).



> Written for the spn-J2-xmas exchange for the amazing Cherie-Morte
> 
> All art by the incredible lighthesparks -- check out the art masterpost HERE ---> http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/111902.html

It’s raining the night Jensen sees his little brother again for the first time in a decade.

Dirty water puddles in the stretch of alleyway, the smell of decay and desperation strong even as the rain attempts to wash it away. Jensen watches the tiny splash of one of those puddles as his little brother’s knees drop into them.

Jensen can’t hear much past the roaring in his ears but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t move when a stranger with a glutton’s paunch and crooked profile tangles meaty hands roughly in the too-long, too-greasy strands of chestnut hair on Jensen’s little brother’s head and pulls him forward.

Jensen doesn’t hear his little brother gagging or spitting or the little huff afterwards when he pulls his shivering body up and staggers over into an archway that offers a modicum of protection to recover just enough for the next stranger to come.

The roaring in Jensen’s ears doesn’t stop until thirty-seven minutes later, when the stranger’s paunch is split in two on either side of Jensen’s blade. Jensen’s wipes the man’s own viscera across the coarse hair on his slack cheek before heading back the way he came from. 

Jensen whistles a tune from their childhood as he walks, rain wetting his cheeks.

==

Jensen rents a different type of car in every town, usually opposite whatever his current mood is. A cherry red Mustang when he’s feeling particularly subdued, fingers itching but not taking. An old black Hyundai for those days when he can still feel fresh blood running down his canines.

Jensen rents a green station wagon in this town, the town where he finds his Jared. It’s the last car they sat in together, back when Jared was six years old and had clean hair and clean knees and a family that never deserved him.

It’s two days after Jensen finds him when Jensen finally drives up to the useless archway and rolls down his window to get Jared’s attention.

Jensen can see Jared steadying himself, shoulders twitching so imperceptibly that if Jensen wasn’t so aware at all times, he might have missed it. Jared saunters over now, skinny hips in faded denim swinging side-to-side in a mockery of seduction. One hand slides over the top of the station wagon and he leans in, giving Jensen his first good look in so many years.

Jensen wants to reach out and touch Jared’s face. Wants to put his thumbs on those slanted cheeks and push until the dimples that Jensen knows are buried underneath the horror of life come out to bring the sunshine back. Wants to put his own vicious mouth against the thin skin of Jared’s eyelids and kiss them until every vision behind them is replaced by the moment when Jensen comes to save him.

Jared’s pupils are dilated so much that his eyes appear nearly black in the low light of the alleyway. There’s no recognition there, no memory, no sunshine, nothing but what Jensen suspects are enough chemicals to get him through dropping to his knees in the rain for old men.

“What can I do for you, Mister?” Jared says. It comes out slurred, words spilling from lips that are too swollen and too red. One corner tips up, an obscene imitation of a smile.

Jensen wants to tell him that he’s sorry that he found Jared eight days too late to be there for his sixteenth birthday. Wants to tell him what it felt like to have the stench of blood in his nostrils knowing that the person bleeding out will never touch what’s his again. Wants to tell him that sometimes he thinks he wouldn’t have lit the match that night if he knew that it would take him ten years to find Jared again.

“Get in the car for a minute,” is what Jensen does say, and it makes something clench in his gut that Jared only hesitates a second before climbing in the front seat and arching his body towards him.

“Fifty for a blowjob, hundred if you want to fuck me,” Jared recites, fingers creeping over to Jensen’s knee.

Jensen takes a deep breath and grabs Jared’s wrist. Jared freezes, eyes widening just enough as he sucks his lower lip in his mouth. Jensen can smell the fear coming from him, a scent that would usually excite him, but now just fills him with a sadness he’s not used to. 

Gently, he lays Jared’s hand back on his own skinny, thinly-clothed thigh. “No, nothing like that.”

Jared eyes him warily, moving closer to the door like he’s about to make a run for it at any moment. 

Jensen just smiles at him, a real one, the kind that his mouth hasn’t known how to form in years. He reaches into a brown paper sack next to him on the benchseat and pulls out a neatly-wrapped sandwich.

“You looked hungry,” Jensen says simply, watching the journey Jared’s Adam’s Apple takes as he swallows hard. “It’s not poisoned, I swear. You have no reason to trust me, I know, but…”

The silence in the car is heavy as Jared contemplates the sandwich, staring at it like it’s growing to sprout wings and fly away. He looks between it and Jensen with deep consternation, moreso than Jensen imagined his drug-addled mind would be able to handle.

Finally, without a word, Jared takes the sandwich and peels the Saran wrap off of it quickly. He holds it to his mouth and takes a gigantic bite, eyes fluttering closed as he chews and swallows. 

“Peanut butter and banana,” Jensen says, staring at his brother, the only thing in the world he has left.

Jared’s eyes flutter open then and he stares back at Jensen. Something registers then, way back. “Before…my mom…she…”

_Cut the crusts off._

_Kissed the wrapper._

_Didn’t stop him._

_Cried so pretty._

_Died so slowly._

“I know.”

Jared takes another bite.

==

“He’s a sick little boy,” the nurses whisper, tittering breaths coming from red slashes of mouth.

“He’s a twisted little fuck,” the orderly snarls, hand over the tiny teeth marks on his forearm.

“He’s a danger to society,” the doctor notes, pen scrapping against paper, ink smearing like blood.

“He’s a tricky little cocksucker,” the hospital janitor thinks, waking up to a head wound and open side door.

“He’s the devil,” the corpse says, as if it still had its tongue.

“He’s beautiful,” the mirror says, as Jensen puts the mask back on and smiles.

==

It’s cold tonight.

Jared climbs into the front of the station wagon and Jensen can see how stiff his wispy muscles are underneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. His skin is covered in goosebumps, tiny pinpricks showing how little he’s taking care of himself.

It’s okay. Jensen is here now. Everything will be okay.

He passes Jared the hoodie. It’s well-worn and fuzzy and smells like Jensen. Jared takes it, no hesitation now, and wraps it around himself as he gazes at Jensen with large, liquid eyes.

Jared breathes in. Jensen does as well. They sync.

Later, Jensen will watch as Jared stumbles off to the room he squats in with that blond kid with the squinty eyes and the bottle redhead with too many track marks for arms that skinny.

Jensen is relieved when Jared just pulls the hood up and shakes his head as he refuses one last customer.

That man doesn’t deserve to go home to a too-forgiving wife and 2.5 children and a job as a high school science teacher, so Jensen puts him out of his misery anyway with three quick slashes across the throat.

At least now he knows Jared will smell like Jensen tonight instead.

==

“How much for a suck, sweetheart?”

Jensen’s not exactly surprised when one of the disgusting pieces of shit that roll up to this naked stretch of alley decides to proposition him instead of one of the regulars. Considering he’s not much older than most of them, and with his hair and his ass and his mouth the way they are, he’s more surprised that it’s taken this _long_ for it to happen.

Jensen smirks, leans up against the damp wall with one foot hitting brick for balance. He cocks his head, lowers his lids, swipes a tongue across the top row of his teeth. 

_Seduction 101._

He sees the piece of shit twitch, ready to stumble forward. If he did, maybe he would realize that Jensen’s too clean to be what this man thinks he is. His fingernails are manicured and his boots are shined and he smells like leather and oil instead of the decaying gut rot of old man jizz.

Jensen’s blade is heavy on his hip, shined and sharp and solid.

“You can’t afford me, old man.”

The piece of shit stops in his tracks, eyes small and mean and tracking around nervously before seeming to come to the conclusion that there are no cops about to bust out on him at any moment.

His thin lip curls up and he sneers at Jensen. Spit sticks to the corner of his mouth and Jensen wonders just how much the fucker’s already had to drink and how he even thought he’d be able to get his shriveled two inches of dick up.

“Guess I gotta go get that skinny slut from the archway. Can’t suck a cock worth a damn but he cries real pretty when I fuck him dry.”

Jensen had been ready to let the man live.

_Alas._

==

Jensen likes to think that he doesn’t kill for his own selfish reasons.

Sometimes killing is about mercy. Sometimes necessity. Sometimes it’s to release the beauty inside a person’s soul that can only truly be captured in that moment when breath leaves the body.

Mostly, Jensen likes to think that he kills because he loves too deeply.

The doctors liked to tell him that he couldn’t love, that he didn’t know how. That the one thing that he did when he was nine years, eleven months, and fourteen days old would define him forever and keep him locked behind walls and away from the only thing he ever held dear to him.

Jensen holds the piece of shit’s body in between the V of his legs, his cold, slumped back the perfect white canvas for where Jensen is carving his little brother’s name into flesh.

The doctors were wrong. Jensen loves. Oh, _how_ Jensen loves.

“Jensen.”

He looks up, startled, confused, his brain in that fuzzy, heady place between the kill and the aftermath.

“Jensen.”

Jared’s standing in the doorway, light behind him framing him like an angel sent from a God Jensen doesn’t believe in.

“Jensen.” 

No one has called Jensen by that name since he was fifteen years old and sucked a janitor’s dick to break out of the mental hospital he grew up in to start a five year impossible quest to find the only person worth killing for.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Jared asks, voice all of six years old again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Jensen says, choking on his breath. The knife drops from his hand and he kicks out at the corpse resting on his legs until he can scramble backwards and away from it.

Jensen sits in the dirt, paralyzed, unmasked. 

Jared stumbles over to him, drops to his knees, this time for a reason so different that it makes Jensen ache inside. Without a word, he wraps his arms around Jensen’s neck, burying his now-damp face in the safe little nook behind Jensen’s ear as Jensen’s hands slide across too-prominent ribs to tug their bodies tight together.

They spend a long moment like that, two pieces tucked snugly in the corner of the world’s most fucked up puzzle. Jared finally pulls back and looks up at him before glancing quickly over at the fresh corpse and then back again.

Jensen sees the small look and freezes, but Jared’s eyes are warm and alive and full of the worshipful wonder that Jensen dreamed about every single night at the hospital.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Jared whispers, like it’s a secret, their secret now, not just Jensen’s.

“How did you figure out it was me?” Jensen asks. Their faces are so close that it’s just sharing air.

Jared’s drags his nose against Jensen’s nose, the same way he would do it when they were kids. 

“You smell like my brother.”

And then Jensen puts his thumbs on those slanted cheeks and doesn’t even need to push at all because the dimples that have been buried since the night their father pushed open their bedroom door and sealed his fate are now dented underneath Jensen’s fingertips like tiny craters of hope.

_Sunshine._

“Where do we go now?” Jared asks, quiet, his mouth against Jensen’s mouth like a promise.

Jensen feels Jared’s hand slide down to tangle with his own, still slick with blood. Jensen feels the itch, pictures steel in his brother’s palm as clearly as he pictures his brother’s bare flesh under his own.

“Anywhere you like, little brother. Anywhere you like.”

He seals the promise with a kiss.


End file.
